Mad Cows = Udder Insanity
by sylph paean
Summary: Ok. It doesn't actually have anything to do with cows, but hopefully the kind reader will find it amusing.


Author's Note: Thank you for taking the time to read this. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it. It's my first actual fanfic, so I know it may not make much sense. Anyhow, flames accepted as long as they are actually constructive criticism. 

*This idea was borrowed from – well, those this pertains to know who they are.

**This idea was gratefully borrowed from Monty Python's Argument Sketch.

No copyright infringement intended! I make no money from this. But I do thank Joss and Co. 

Enjoy the ensuing wackiness!

(The camera pans across a luxurious room with the dreamy, flickering light of candles. The soft strains of music are heard, as well as the rustle of clothing and a whispered conversation between the protagonists.)

Angel: (Breathlessly…oh, wait, he doesn't have any breath to start with. Scratch that.) (Huskily) Are you sure you want to do this? I know you haven't really has much… experience.

Willow: Yes, I know. But… Oz, well, he was Oz. (She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles up at him.) And Tara was special, just not in _that way. Just as a friend. But you….. (Their faces come closer and the music swells) Hey! Would you cut that out? (Camera pans over to a sheepish-looking string quartet.) It's really hard to whisper sweet nothings into a guy's ear __when he can't even hear you, even with his supernatural hearing!_

(The musicians have the decency to mumble apologies …. hushed mutters of "The Author made us do it!" are heard.)

Angel: Ahem. As we were saying… Oh, Willow, can I sweep you off you feet?

Willow: (Coyly) Just as long as my skirt doesn't ride up too far!

Angel chuckles and…………. "Willow! Willow! Wake up!"

(Camera cuts to a dorm room)

Willow: Huh? Whaa…? No… don't like Cheerios… donut tree seeds*…

Buffy: Wills? Wake up! Wake up! ( Proceeds to shake her frantically) Oh, my god! I killed Willow! What have I done? 

(Buffy rushes out of the dorm room, sobbing hysterically.)

Willow: What the…….? Hmm. Well, it's (Checks the clock) Oh. No. No, it can't be! Wait… (Takes a closer look) Huh?

(The camera swoops over to the digital clock, which reads: I am Malcolm!! Mwa-ha-ha! I will capture you through this clock, and carry you away to a, er, a deserted place, and, um, ravish you!)

Willow: (Unfazed) Yeah. Right, I'm sure. Sorry, but that got old a long time ago. (Sighs) What a dream! (Gets up out of bed, stretches and yawns.) Hmm. Well, I should really go to class. (At this, little 'devil' and 'angel' Willows pop up at her left and right shoulders and whisper furiously into her respective ears.) No! Yes! What… huh? What are you talking about?

DW (Devil Willow): Yes, you can!

AW (Angel Willow): No, you can't!

DW: Yes, you can!

AW: Look. An argument is based on a plausible premise which both parties agree to. It's not just contradiction!**

DW: No it isn't!

AW: Yes it is! (etc.)

Willow: Grr! Would you stop it?? (Flicks both little figures off her shoulders. Tiny screams are heard.) Well….. I think I'll go back to bed. I'm smarter than the professors anyway. Zzzzzzzzz…….

In an apartment not far away, a certain vampire wakes up, startled. 

Angel: Man. I'm just not getting used to this damned daylight savings' time.

Narrator: (As camera swoops over the rest of Sunnydale) So, our two hero-type main character-ish people have still not realized their love for each other. Oh, well. I feel like an ice cream. What do you think, Tom?

Unidentified Voice In The Background, Presumably Tom: Sure. Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh!

Narrator: What the…… Aaaaahhhhhhh!

Voice Over: How's that for a suspenseful ending? Hahaha. Just kidding, folks. Actually, the miniscule plane the camera guy (Tom) and the Narrator were in crashed into a 747. Unfortunately, they both became gibbering idiots after they were rescued from the wreckage of their craft – maybe they saw a clown on the wing of their plane or something. Blame Tony! No, really, blame it on the budget. You damned capitalists! Conservative pigs! Taking all our money… no sense of morals, or spirituality…. (Loud elevator music interrupts this monologue, and the credits roll.)

We worship the Author!

The Author knows all!

Kindly Author, please don't hurt us… (etc., etc… various other homages to the omniescent Author.)

The End (with a flourish.)


End file.
